


The Gardner

by Shriek



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hell, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shriek/pseuds/Shriek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alastair takes a special interest in Dean Winchester, sure he can prune him into something new, better...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gardner

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on/inspired by the song The Gardner by The Dresden Doll. I recommend you listen to it while reading the fic. Or just listen to it at some point because it is deliciously creepy and The Dresden Dolls are badass.

As soon as Dean Winchester landed on his rack, Alistair knew there was something exciting hidden inside him.

Hunters were always his favourites. All that lovely, nasty guilt. And plenty of anger, a thirst for blood. He had turned many a hunter over beneath his hands, added them to his collection. Demons, tailor made.

But Dean. He was something particularly special. It was there quite plain in his soul, for those who knew, or cared to look. And that was what made Alistair unique. He didn’t just tear in with teeth and knives until his subjects broke. He peeked inside them and peeled the layers away from their soul, learning. He may be known in Hell as ‘Picasso with a razor,’ but that was a sad understatement, made by more crude demons. Ones who didn’t know their way around a soul the way he did. He could break someone in mere hours, if need be. But he liked to take his time. And with Dean, he would take all the time in the world. This was going to be fun.

Alistair put aside all of his other projects for the Winchester. A soul like this deserved his full attention. A soul like this would be wasted as just another grunt demon. No, Alistair was going to make Dean Winchester his apprentice.

*******

“Fuck you!” Dean spat, issuing forth a spray of blood. Alistair shook his head.

“Oh no, Deanny boy. It’s the other way around, remember? And you would do well not to reject my offers so rudely.”

Alistair reached into Dean’s gaping chest and grasped a rib, snapping it off with a quick tug. As Dean screamed, Alistair turned his back and waved a hand, signalling to his henchmen that he was done with Dean for the day.

*******

“You know what today is, don’t you my pretty flower? Twenty five years, to the day, since you got here. Our time, of course. Topside, it’s been only… two months? You should see your Sammy. He’s not doing so well without you.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say much these days. At least, not to Alistair. He screams plenty, calls out to his brother, his father, begging someone to rescue him. Alistair loves reminding him that his father is getting the same treatment. Under less skilled hands though. Because Dean is special.

“We’ll make a man out of you yet, Dean. Someday you’ll bloom, I know it. You’ve got the potential, with the right gardener to tend to you, to become so much more than the pathetic thing you are now. And I’m your gardener, you know. I’m gonna help you grow into something brand new.”

With that, he peels away the slice of skin he had left half hanging from Dean’s cheek. He places a circle of thorns on Dean’s hanging head, smirking and lifting Dean’s chin to bring him eye to eye.

“You know, they talk about you. All over Hell, there are whispers about Dean Winchester. A lot of demons were vying to get a hand on you, but I’m the lucky boy who gets to take you apart and see how you tick. We’ll make a man out of you yet,” he says, like he has said so many times before.

*******

“Tell me, Dean. Who is your master?”

Dean says nothing.

“Ah, come on now. This one is easy!” He leans in carefully, slicing apart the fibres of the muscle in Dean’s thigh, one by one. “Who is your master Dean?”

“You! You, Alistair. 

“That’s right. I am your master, the gardener to prune and trim you into something new.”

“God, just please, stop.”  
“Are we making progress? You know the offer. You haven’t asked me to stop in a long time. Are you coming around to the merits of my deal?”

Dean doesn't respond, so Alistair goes back to slicing away at his thigh with the razor, and Dean screams until his throat is bleeding, but he doesn’t ask Alistair to stop again.

“I believe we are making progress. You are beginning to bear the fruit of my careful tending.” He speaks gently, but he knows Dean can hear him over his own screams.

*******

Today, Alistair’s tactic is different. Today is not a day of blades and bones breaking.

“Sammy no. Don’t say that. Sam please!”

One of the wonderful things about Hell is the complete control he has over the souls in his hands. What Dean is seeing is real to him. So completely real that Hell is forgotten altogether, as Dean’s brother tells him all the things he always feared to hear most. Then that scene is gone, replaced by one that is even better. One that is real, that Dean remembers vividly even when he’s not being forced to relive it in perfect clarity.

“Godamnit Dean! Are you completely useless? You could have gotten your brother killed! All because you were too damn lazy to practice like I told you. To learn what you needed to know to keep your family safe. No fucking wonder you dropped out of school. You can’t commit to anything. Just, get out of my sight.”

Dean broke finally, giving in to the tears that his father’s words produced. Alistair put a hand to Dean’s face, wiping away the tears with his thumb.

“They didn’t love you Dean. No one loved you. You are worthless, and weak. But I love you, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

No fighting, no saying he didn’t want it, just admittance. 

“And that’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? Someone to love you?”

“Yeah,” Dean whispered.

“What?”

“Yes, Alistair.”

“Good.” Alistair snapped his fingers and the restraints holding Dean in place disappeared. He turned to the crowd of demons behind him. “You can have him.”

And the demons set upon him like starving animals to fresh meat.

*******

It was thirty years, to the day, when Dean finally broke.

Alistair was slicing into him from a dozen different angles, humming merrily as he peeled away skin and severed tendons. After hours of this, he stepped back to admire his work. There was very little left of Dean’s body, but he hung, breathing raggedly still, conscious due to the beautiful magic of Hell. After all, it was really Dean’s soul Alistair was taking apart. And souls don’t die, they can’t pass out from pain. Alistair chuckled. He was done for the day.

So, like every other day, he made Dean his offer.

“Alright Dean. It’s that time again. You wanna get off this rack and learn what it feels like to crush a human soul beneath your hands?

Dean raised his head.

“Yes.”

_The gardener’s coming to collect…_


End file.
